


The Case of the Mundane Affair

by acervate



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Time, M/M, Smut, john is very oblivious like wow wtf, sherlock loves john a lot damn son u need help with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1194072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acervate/pseuds/acervate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock is overwhelmed by a new case, John is determined to help, whether Sherlock wants him to or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is my piece for the johnlock challenges v day exchange uwu

It was nearing 10 in the morning when the sound of the front door closing loudly startled John from the newspaper he had been reading and he listened as the sound of footsteps on the stairs drew nearer.  
  
"Another late night, Sherlock?"  
  
Said detective closed the door to their flat behind him, rubbing a hand over his face.  
  
"Yes, quite. How ever did you deduce that?" his tone was laced with sarcasm, a clear indicator of his fatigue and lack of sleep. John raised an eyebrow as his eyes scanned over his friend's appearance. His normally bright, scanning eyes were a bit subdued and dark shadows were beneath them. The strong posture which gave off an air of regalness had melted away to reveal a more slumped one. John relented upon looking at Sherlock and frowned.  
  
"As much as I would like to say that I reached my conclusion by looking at the hem of your trousers, I lack your powers of deduction. Truthfully, you just look terrible." John grimaced as Sherlock walked past him and into the kitchen, opening cupboards and looking inside.  
  
Sherlock had been taking more cases than usual, trying to balance as many as he could all at once. Currently, he was managing 4, and it was definitely taking a toll on him. As much as John loved to help his best friend, he need a minimum of 5 hours of sleep and 3 square meal to function optimally. Sherlock however, preferred a more distant approach, with only 3 meals a week and far less sleep than was recommended to anyone. He was simply driving himself to ultimate exhaustion.  
  
Sherlock made a viscous growling noise as he closed the cupboard, coming back into the living room. John's eyes followed him as he collapsed into his chair, head lolling back against the cushion. He sighed.  
  
"It does sadden me to know that your sister's alcoholism has yet to get better. Perhaps rehab is in her future."  
  
"How did-no, nevermind."  
  
"How did I know?" Sherlock said, head coming up and body squirming until he was leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs and fingers steepled in front of his mouth. "For one, I could catch a whiff of it on your coat. You're up earlier than usual, and dressed on top of that, thus not sleeping well due to the stress of your visit. Who are you aquatinted with that tends to reek of alcohol and gives you only endless frustration and worry for your troubles? Harry Watson, your sister.  Painfully obvious."  
  
The last word was spat out as Sherlock fell back and covered his eyes with the palms of his hands. John sat quietly, hands loosely holding the newspaper.  
  
"I know that you aren't trying to be an arse, but maybe you should watch your mouth."  
  
"Sorry." Sherlock muttered, arms falling down on the cushions. John folded the newspaper and leaned forward, inclining his head.  
  
"Let me help you with the case. God knows you're not going to get any rest, so at least let me help get this over with."  
  
"It's a pitiful little affair!" Sherlock exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "So stupid and mundane, that it would hold no interest to you. It's serious enough that I'll take the client, but it lacks all the thrilling details that you like to chronicle. Sorry to disappoint."  
  
Sherlock's harsh tone hung in the air as they both fell silent. John clasped his hands together and sighed.  
  
"It sure is taking up a bit of your time."  
  
"The utterly simple and transparent cases often need the most time to clear up." he murmured, sighing and rising from his chair. John watched Sherlock disappear into the bathroom, then heard the shower turn on. He sat back in his chair and sighed.  
  
John couldn't stand when Sherlock drove himself mad over cases like this. If it truly was a pitiful little affair, why was he so frazzled over it? For nearly a fortnight, Sherlock had been going out late and coming back very early in the morning. Where he went, John had no clue, but Sherlock always seemed a bit more snappish and high strung when he came back. When asked about it, Sherlock always said it was for the affair case, but what could be taking him so long to solve?  
  
The sound of Sherlock's bedroom door opening broke John away from his thoughts and his eyes scanned over Sherlock's more rejuvinated figure.  
  
"Come along, John."  
  
"To where?"  
  
"Out. Our cupboards are utterly bare and I'm concerned that my stomach may eat itself soon." John hastened to follow him, putting on his shoes and jacket in relative time. The outing to a small diner turned into investigating when Sherlock received more news on one of his cases, and by the end of the day it was solved.  
  
John knew that Sherlock found triumph in solving his cases, and; even if he loathed to express it; found John's accounts of the process fascinating. He once begrudgingly admitted to seeing the world through someone else's eyes to be interesting, especially when it concerned his cases. However, when Sherlock's violin sessions became a bit less pleasant and more screechy, along with his spirits falling, John grew more concerned. Sherlock seemed to always be in a foul mood, his bouts of silence and depression becoming increasingly frequent. The nightly excursions continued, leading John to believe that the case of the "pitiful little affair" remained unsolved. However, he decided not to pester Sherlock about it. Surely he would have a solution soon.  
  
John threw that decision out the window when one morning, he came down only to find Sherlock slumped over in his chair, still wearing his suit from the previous day.His eyes were open slightly, red rimmed and a clear sign of his need for rest. His face was unshaven, alerting John that he had not even had the time since returning to clean himself up like usual before falling asleep. John crossed the room and went over to his chair, crouching down so that his face was closer to Sherlock.  
  
"Sherlock. Hey, look at me."  
  
John watched as Sherlock's eyes slowly went to his face, lids half closed and painfully exhausted.  
  
"You have to tell me about this case. For Godsakes, let me help."  
  
This seemed to set Sherlock off, for his eyes slammed open and he sat up quickly. John fell back onto the carpet, surprised by the outburst.  
  
"I can't, John. This is a very delicate matter."  
  
"I thought it was a little affair."  
  
"It is," Sherlock stressed, hands clenching. "I cannot reveal the identity of my client however. That is the only thing that takes it above a normal level."  
  
"But why can't you reveal the identity? Not even to me? It just has to be more than a regular affair!" John rose off the floor and swiped his hands over his jeans. Sherlock put his face in his hands and groaned.  
  
"It's blackmail, alright?" he hissed, face shooting up to send a glare at John. "It would be horrible if my client's affair were made common knowledge, and now there's blackmail involved. Happy?"  
  
"Not really." John replied. "I still think you should let me help."  
  
"Too bad, I'm not going to." Sherlock spat, mouth turning into a tight grimace. The expression quickly faded from his face and was replaced by a gentler, more pleading look. "Please John, stop asking. I just cannot let you help me."  
  
The anxiety and stress in Sherlock's voice melted John's resolve to help, and he nodded with a sigh.  
  
"Fine. It's your job technically, the clients come to you for your help, not mine." Sherlock sighed in relief, mouth quirking up into a grateful smile.  
  
"Now maybe you should get some rest. It's nearly 10, and I'm doubting that you've had any rest since yesterday."  
  
"It's almost 10?" Sherlock repeated, the tension filling his frame again.  He sprang from his chair, hurrying off to the bathroom. John followed, observing as Sherlock scrubbed at his face with water. The urge to assist in some way creeped back in, and he didn't resist it. John entered the bathroom and pulled Sherlock's rumpled suit jacket from his body, then braving the hectic mess of his friend's room, went to his closet and retrieved a fresh one. Sherlock came out of the bathroom as John exited his room and hurriedly took the jacket.  
  
"Thank you. Now, could you possibly go away for the next hour or so? A few miles would be lovely."  
  
"What? Why do I have to leave?"  
  
The sound of the bell ringing and the panic that crossed Sherlock's face made John only more curious about the apparent appointment, and he dragged his feet as Sherlock pushed him off towards the door.  
  
"Who is it? Your client?"  
  
"His blackmailer." Sherlock hissed, halting when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. John slid his shoes on while Sherlock shoved his jacket into his arms, freezing when someone knocked on the door.  
  
"Go." Sherlock whispered, taking a breath and then opening the door. John almost walked straight into the man at the door, backing up when he nearly strutted into the flat.  
  
"Mr. Hardell. Please do come in." Sherlock muttered, giving John a look. "Doctor Watson here was just leaving."  
  
"Oh, is he? I don't think so." Hardell's voice was practically oozing self pride and the withering look he sent Sherlock made John feel a strong urge to punch him. He looked the man over, taking in his appearance. Mr. Hardell was short; shorter than John himself. With brunette hair trimmed short and dull grey eyes to match, John couldn't see anything about him that made him stand out.  
  
"Blending in and not being seen must be great for blackmail." he though bitterly.  
  
"It was my client's firmest wishes that he not be here." Sherlock said tightly, breaking John from his observing. He pushed at John with a sharp elbow, nudging him towards the door.  
  
"Yes, but if your client's wishes mattered, we wouldn't be having this meeting, now would we?" Sherlock grimaced and nodded at John, a signal for him to stay. As he took off his coat, Sherlock pulled up the wooden chair that was normally set aside for clients. Hardell however, strode off and plopped himself right down in Sherlock's chair, sinking down with a gleeful smirk.  
  
John's urge to punch him evolved into an urge to throw him out the nearest window.  
  
Sherlock took the wooden chair, leaving John to sit in his own. He settled in, eyes flicking between Mr. Hardell and Sherlock as they began.  
  
"So Mr. Holmes, I believe I made my stipulations clear in the letter I sent you?"  
  
"Yes. However, my client cannot afford to pay the sum of money you requested."  
  
"Really?" Hardell's jaw opened in mock surprise. "Last that I checked, he comes from a very wealthy family."  
  
Sherlock's hands clenched. "He would prefer not to bring them into this."  
  
"Well then I'll just have to tell-"  
  
"No!" John looked at his friend in astonishment, utterly taken aback by the fear and pleading in his expression. "You mustn't."  
  
"Well then, he'll have to reconsider, won't he?" Hardell lazily raised a hand, appearing as if he were inspecting his nails. "The stakes _are_ rather high for him."  
  
"Not as high as you may think. My client has been considering making a clean break and releasing the information himself."  
  
"Oh, has he? When does he plan to do so?" John watched as the small amount of strength Sherlock was able to muster faded back down.  
  
"He...He is still deciding. However, you know that he is both unmarried and childless, along with not having much public bearing. The news being out would hardly wound him."  
  
"But he would lose that who he holds dearest." Hardell stood up, and outstretched his hand. Sherlock shook it with a tight grimace. "I'll give him 48 hours. Pay up, or deal with the consequences. Goodbye Mr. Holmes, lovely meeting with you."  
  
As John fought down the urge to trip Mr. Hardell down the stairs, Sherlock led him over to the door and out, his expression tense. As soon as the door was shut, John sprang up from his chair.  
  
"That utter cock! How dare he-"  
  
"John." The defeat was evident in Sherlock's voice as he held up his hand, silencing his friend. "Don't."  
  
"You have to tell me, Sherlock. You just have to tell me what this case is about."  
  
"I _can't!_ " Sherlock whirled around on him, as if warding him off. "I cannot tell you anymore without giving away my client's identity, which I am not at the liberty to do."  
  
As Sherlock shoved a hand into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes, John scowled in frustration.  
  
"Fine. What if I guess it?"  
  
"You? Make the correct guess?" Sherlock laughed bitterly. "You're really grasping at straws, aren't you?"  
  
"You're driving yourself into an early grave over this bloody case, and I'm sick of it. So shut up and let me guess."  
  
Sherlock gave him a scathing look as he lit his cigarette. "Well, go ahead then."  
  
John cleared his throat, a bit discomforted by Sherlock's scrutinising gaze. "Okay, well it's a man. You said he doesn't have much public bearing, but something about this is serious enough that he doesn't want people to know." John paused. "I wanted to say Lestrade but-"  
  
"But?"  
  
"Well, he's got kids even if he isn't married anymore. It couldn't be your brother either, since I'm fairly sure he could've had Hardell taken care of before the letter even reached his desk."  
  
Sherlock shuffled impatiently, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. "So who does it leave? For Godsakes John, narrow it down further."  
  
"I..." John shook his head. "I don't know. It's someone you must know closely, since the blackmailer came right to you instead of going through the client. Many people don't know you closely, so I honestly don't know."  
  
John sighed, crossing his arms. "Sorry. I thought that maybe it would all add up like it does in your head."  
  
"At least you're not hiding years and years of powerful deductions that are put to waste in your disgustingly mundane occupation as an army doctor. Oh, pardon me, _ex_ army doctor." Sherlock replied sharply. John scowled at him as he walked forward and plucked the cigarette right from his mouth mid drag.  
  
"Since you haven't slept in probably over 48 hours, I'm going to excuse that. You are going to march off into your room, lay down on your bed, and get some bloody sleep. Go."  
  
"I-"  
  
 _"Now."_  
  
With a fierce glare, Sherlock shuffled into his room, closing the door with more force than was strictly necessary. Smashing the cigarette in the nearby ashtray, John sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. He hated when Sherlock acted like a perpetual two year old, but at the same time he understood that it only happened when he was under stress. Or didn't get his way. Or if he wasn't allowed to keep frozen extremities in the fridge. Okay, maybe he did it a lot.  
  
But, this time he was under stress and John sympathised with him for it. However, he also blamed Sherlock for trying to handle this all on his own. He was sure that the client would understand if John was brought onto the case due to Sherlock exhausting himself both physically and mentally.  
  
John sighed again. Perhaps he would he able to convince Sherlock that he was ready to help, and that everything would be fine if he did.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the day passed in relative quietness, with little commotion from Sherlock for the hours after he was sent to bed. John heard him moving around at one point, and around 6 he was rewarded with an appearance. Sherlock's hair was sleep mused, and he had changed from his suit into his pyjamas and dressing gown.  
  
"Feel better?" John asked as Sherlock pulled back a chair and sat with him at the table. He nodded slightly.  
  
"I suppose I was in need of some sleep."  
  
"Damn right. You were out like a light for nearly 8 hours." John motioned to the pasta he had made for dinner.  
  
"Want some?"  
  
"Is it the thing with peas?" Sherlock said, plucking John's fork right from his hands and moving the food around. John snorted.  
  
"Yeah. You don't have to have sauce with yours though." Sherlock nodded and placed the fork down on the plate while John rose to prepare his plate. Sherlock watched John move, bright irises thin rings around his dark pupils. John reached up into a cupboard and his jumper moved up, exposing a stripe of skin that was darker than his own. Sherlock unconsciously licked his lips as John put a fork on the plate and turned back to him, placing the dish in front of him.  
  
"Eat up. That I checked, you haven't eaten anything in  over two days."  
  
"46 hours." Sherlock shot back, lifting his fork and winding the spaghetti around it. He sent John a look as he ate, disguising the otherwise thinly veiled content at having a nice, home cooked meal. They ate in comfortable silence, eyes meeting each other's casually. Upon finishing, Sherlock retreated back to his room, scampering to do God knows what. John assumed that he was probably hard at work on the case again, and forced down his displeasure on the matter by selecting a movie from their meager collection of DVDs and playing it. By the time he was halfway through Star Trek II, he was dozing off and by the time The Wrath of Khan started, he was asleep.  
  
The sound of shuffling feet woke him up some time later, and in the darkness of the living room he could make out Sherlock's silhouette.  
  
"Wha' are you doing?" John mumbled, rubbing at his eyes and yawning. Sherlock had changed into another suit and was putting on his scarf when he froze.  
  
"I'm going out."  
  
"Out? Sherlock it's..." John paused to check his phone. "Past midnight. Can't you just let the case be for now?"  
  
"I'm not on the case. I solved it." he replied indigently. John narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Are you lying? You would've woken up the entire street with some sort of explanation if you had solved it."  
  
"No, I am completely truthful. It's solved and over with, so I'm going out." Sherlock turned away and picked up his coat, putting it on. "Oh, and don't follow me."  
  
"Aha!" John cried.  
  
"Despite what you may think is tangible evidence," Sherlock replied. "I'm actually just going out. Think of it as me treating myself to a case well done."  
  
With that, Sherlock crossed the room to the door and left. John sat upright in his chair, believing Sherlock for a few seconds. When that time was over however, he sprung up and rushed to put on his shoes and jacket, then trailed after his friend.  
  
Through helping with many cases, John had become rather adept at following someone without being noticed. He stayed a good distance away, being utterly silent and keeping Sherlock just barely in his sights. After walking a good 20 minutes, John noted that the neighborhood wasn't a particularly nice one. The houses were rather run down, and John couldn't see how this was equating to Sherlock treating himself. The detective stopped at a brick building, one of the nicer ones in the area. Ducking into the alley next to the house, he sunk down low and waited, puzzled as to what was happening. He heard the door open and a man's voice great Sherlock.  
  
"Ah, Mr. Holmes. Please come in." The door shut with a solid thump and John thought that this was the end of his little investigation. He remained crouched however, waiting to see if anything more would happen. As far as he knew, Sherlock was clean and had been for years before he met him. If this is where he had been going in his late nights out, John would've surely noticed if he was high. The window only a few feet away from him opened and he heard Sherlock's voice speaking.  
  
"You don't mind if I keep it open? I rather like the cool air."  
  
"Of course not. It's all about you, isn't it?" An unknown man's voice replied to him, not matching anyone's who he knew. Could this possibly be the client? John moved quietly and positioned himself so that he could peek in the window, being as still and silent as possible.  
  
There were curtains covering the window, so he could only make out the general shape of the people in the room. As far as he could tell, it was only Sherlock and another man.  
  
"I wasn't expecting you tonight. Lucky I wasn't busy, eh?"  
  
Sherlock chuckled quietly. "You were half an hour ago. The accent is getting better."  
  
"Well, practice makes perfect. Besides, you're not the only person who finds appeal in Holmes and Watson."  
  
Something in his voice made John bristle, his neck prickling with fear of what might happen if he didn't leave. Something was going to happen, something that would have a profound effect on him. Nevertheless, the only adjusted his position for a better view.  
  
The unknown man was shorter than Sherlock, his hair trimmed short and regulation like. He moved close to Sherlock, mouth hovering mere inches from his. "You've been working too much. How about I take you to bed, and I'll do the work?"  
  
Sherlock inhaled. "Not quite. But it's good enough."  
  
John sunk down as the silhouettes of their heads joined into one, rooted to his spot in the alleyway by some unknown force. For the next hour, John could only listen as both his and Sherlock's name were muttered and moaned and called out and varying tones, with only his mind to supply the images that might accompany them. Many things occurred to him as he stay there in the alley, many of them discoveries and others only repeat news.  
  
Since meeting Sherlock, John had no doubt become rather swept up in the man. At first, yes, it was pure fascination with his new flatmate that was able to cure his limp with a criminal chase. Sherlock was married to his work, and John wasn't gay. Sure, John had experimented when he was younger. Didn't everyone?  
  
And yes, men still caught his eye occasionally. He would admit to giving Sherlock a double take when they first met at Bart's. That didn't mean he was gay though. The term always brought a rather foul taste to his mouth, not out of prejudice, but from experiences in his past. He remembered his parent's reaction to Harry's coming out quite vividly, and was determined to keep feelings of attraction to the same gender a secret, or to just now acknowledge them.  
  
Sherlock made him acknowledge them, however. Many dates failed because of interventions on his flatmate's part, and eventually it was just easier to settle in with a thought about Sherlock and himself.  
  
But never, not even once, had he entertained the thought that perhaps Sherlock felt something for him. Technically, it wasn't completely his fault. If a guy says he's married to his work and doesn't even let his gaze flicker to anyone, regardless of gender, assumptions are made from a logical standpoint. Sherlock doesn't like anyone romantically or sexually, so John wouldn't be a magical exception. But now, things began to add up. Fleeting touches that he had passed off as accidental, the softening of his voice when they conversed, god, how could he forget the absolute horror and blatant, primal fear when he had walked out wearing the bomb and parka. Sherlock did feel something for him, but the declaration of "not gay" obviously made him try to hide it, and now seek elsewhere for help with it. God, he couldn't imagine the worry that must've gone through Sherlock each time, thinking about what would happen if John found out-  
  
Oh. _Oh._  
  
 _"Well then I'll just have to tell-"_  
  
 _"No!"_  
  
 _"The stakes are rather high for him."_  
  
 _"The news being out would hardly wound him."_  
  
 _"But he would lose that who he holds dearest."_  
  
Sherlock was the client! He was working on his own case, being blackmailed into paying Hardell if he wanted the details of his little affair to stay secret. Wealthy family, but minimal contact. Childless and unmarried, and really not all that much public bearing. The answer was simple and right in front on him - literally.  
  
"Shall we call it an hour? Same rates?"  
  
"You can pay all together on Thursday, like usual." The man's voice had developed a different accent, this one rougher than before.  
  
"No, that's alright. I won't be back."  
  
"It's a shame." replied the man, his voice sincere. "You were a great customer."  
  
"Thank you. But I am without a doubt not the only repeat, even if I am the most reliable." John saw their hands join in a handshake, then part as Sherlock left the room. Suddenly, the only thing on his mind was getting back to Baker Street before Sherlock and trying to find an approach to this situation. He darted off, no longer concerned about being seen and wondering if he could somehow make it back with enough time to hop into bed and pretend to be asleep. After a few minutes of walking, he noticed that he hadn't seen even a glimpse of Sherlock. As he looked around, the click of a lighter caught his attention. John whipped around and found himself facing Sherlock Holmes.  
  
"So, John."  he said, taking a drag of the cigarette. In that moment, John could only see a very vulnerable man, his greatest secret revealed to the last person that should ever know it, the one he cherished the most. With a tall coat collar casting dark shadows on his face, the fear and worry masked beneath the street light, Sherlock met his eyes. "What now?"  
  
John stretched out his hands, gently taking hold of Sherlock's. "Come home and we'll talk about this."  
  
"Oh, John." Sherlock's voice broke and he dropped the cigarette, moving forward into John's arms. Sherlock's head dropped down onto his shoulder as his hands grasped at his jacket. John held him tightly as he let out a shuddering sigh, the sheer magnitude of emotion in his voice making everything so painfully simple. They began to walk back the the flat, John's arm firmly around Sherlock's waist to hold him steady, and Sherlock leaning against him for support.  
  
"You wanted me to follow you." John said when Sherlock had gained back the strength in his legs and was no longer trembling as much.  
  
"Actually, I didn't. I knew that you would, no matter what I said. You must really improve on your concealment techniques, I noticed you as soon as-"  
  
"Sherlock." The tone of John's voice silenced him at onside and he lowered his head.  
  
"I assume you've sorted out the case?"  
  
"There was no client; only you."  
  
Sherlock nodded. "I did give you all the clues needed. My objections towards your involvement were strong."  
  
"How long has that arse Hardell had you snared up?"  
  
"16 days. You can clearly see the reason for my anxiousness when he came by earlier, especially when he ordered you to stay."  
  
"But Sherlock, why didn't you just tell me? Surely, you can trust me with anything."  
  
He let out a bitter laugh, pulling away from John. "Never let anyone tell you that you're a pessimist. How can you actually be asking me that?"  
  
"I just don't see why." John replied, keeping his hand hovering over Sherlock's waist. "Enlighten me."  
  
Sherlock sighed and met John's eyes as they continued on. "Imagine yourself as me. You grew up with only one person who you truley felt at ease with. No matter how many people you met, they were never the right type. Now, imagine a man, someone who captures your attention and drags you in and suddenly you find yourself only caring for his regard. You become friends, you live together; it's easily the most prominent relationship in your life. Now imagine that relationship to be like a lifeline. It's the most important element of your entire life, everything revolves around it. You try to keep him happy, try to keep him safe, fail spectacularly at both and still hope he likes you to some degree. Now, have a moment of self discovery and find that you're in love with him. He's the only thing that matters to you, so obviously you're not going to disclose the number of sexual thoughts you've had about him. So when a solution strolls by, no matter how unsavoury if may appear, you take it."  
  
Sherlock stopped suddenly and turned his body towards John.  
  
"In short, I have been paying a male prostitute for the past month and a half to pretend to be you and let me get my release while simultaneously hating my very existence more and more." Sherlock's lips formed a tight line and he began to walk again, trying to put distance between John and himself. John hurried after him, grabbing Sherlock's wrist and pulling him closer.  
  
"So you led me out here to show me?"  
  
"I have found that showing first and explaining later is more effective."  
  
John gave a quick thought to his deductions that baffled both he and Scotland Yard, always saying them and then loathing to explain, then gave Sherlock a small smile. He surged forward, cradled Sherlock's face in his hands, and kissed him.  
  
Sherlock was frozen before melting into the kiss momentarily, then reeling back as if John had slapped him.  
  
"What-"  
  
"Like you said. It's more effective to show first and explain later." John breathed. He didn't move in for another kiss, only grasping Sherlock's gloved hand in his own and carrying on walking. They were mere minutes from the flat, and John was finding his decision to explain later more trying then just showing some more.  
  
John was the first one inside, walking into the flat as Sherlock closed the door behind him. He leaned back against the door, a wild look of apprehension on his face.  
  
"John, it will never be the same. If you are doing this out of pity for my situation-"  
  
"On the first night we had dinner, I wanted nothing more than to kiss you right out there in the front hall. It's been 3 years, Sherlock. Do you think such urges have disappeared?"  
  
Sherlock searched John's face for a moment, trying to identify any sincerity. He must've found it, for the closed off expression crumbled away and was replaced with a small quirk of his lips.  
  
"No."  
  
With four long strides, John was at the door and pressing Sherlock against it, their mouths meeting hungrily. Sherlock's hands traced down John's back, following the curve of his vertebrae then slipping beneath his jacket and shirt to splay across his warm skin. John pushed Sherlock's coat from his shoulders and suddenly they were moving, discarding clothing as they went. John parted for a moment, catching his breath and admiring Sherlock's flushed face and shirt that was now opened most of the way down, exposing his pale, unmarked skin.  
  
"Bedroom." John said, his tone low and making Sherlock shiver where he stood. They moved hastily, hands back on each other and mouths kissing where ever they could reach. John pushed Sherlock back onto the bed, then climbed over him, moving together as they went back further onto it. Sherlock moved his hips up against John's his hands moving down to the small of the man's back and trying keep him close.  
  
"Clothes." Sherlock breathed, his mouth moving to mark the skin on the side of John's throat, his tongue lavishing the area. John shuddered and sat back to pull off his jumper, then pulled Sherlock's shirt from his trousers and went back to meet his mouth. Sherlock's hands were everywhere, following each line of John's body with delicate force, as if he could be gone in the next second.  
  
"Gorgeous. So beautiful." John muttered as he moved down, trailing kisses from jaw to collarbone. Sherlock's fingers ran through his hair, trying to gather a grip and hold him there. He let go when John moved to straddle him, his hands undoing the button on his trousers along with the zipper. Sherlock lifted his hips as John slid the trousers and his pants off, throwing them off the bed carelessly. He sat back, his hands running Sherlock's abdomen, watching as his chest rose with each inhale, seeing the muscles move  beneath his skin.  
  
"John?" Sherlock said, his voice concerned. John snapped out of his stupor and gave Sherlock a smile.  
  
"Sorry. I was busy admiring you." he told him, leaning down to capture Sherlock's mouth in a kiss. Sherlock chuckled.  
  
"If this is how you're going to treat me, I should seek elsewhere for my release more often."  
  
"Never again." John muttered harshly, nipping at the skin on Sherlock's neck. "You're mine now."  
  
Sherlock shivered, and he fumbled with John's jeans, wanting only to have him out of them. Their pace turned feverish and John was soon rod of his clothes just as Sherlock was. John rolled his hips down on Sherlock's, their cocks slotting up against one another's. Sherlock gasped, and his hands grasped John's hips, pulling him down closer, aching for any sensation of him.  
  
"Nnngggh, John, please! Oh god, fuck me, John." Sherlock bucked his hips up against John's, his nails digging into his skin.  
  
"Not to ruin the mood or anything..." John said hesitantly, dotting kisses all over his face. "But um...that man that you paid. He was clean, right?"  
  
Sherlock looked affronted for a moment, then gave him a withering look. "John, I've seen seen your medical records. I paid him to be convincing, and getting an STD out of the ordeal would be the furthest possibility from reality."  
  
Sherlock tipped his head up to kiss John lightly. "So yes, I'm clean."  
  
"Good. Yes, that's good. Well, I am too-"  
  
"I know."  
  
"Right." Sherlock snorted at this bout of nervousness and John grinned before bringing Sherlock into a hungry kiss. They rocked their hips against one another's, building up the pace from before. Sherlock reached over into the top drawer his bedside table, shoving its contents at him. John and he separated briefly, the former taking the bottle of lube and condom and the latter rolling over onto his stomach.  
  
John knelt between Sherlock's spread legs, bending over to press kisses down the length of his back. He put lube on his fingers and pressed one into Sherlock's entrance. He hissed out a fast breath as John prepared him, wriggling impatiently.  
  
"Oh god, John, spare me and get on with it." he panted, moving his hips to get more then what John had been giving. The desire and need in Sherlock's voice sent want coursing through John and he quickly slipped on the condom and positioned himself. Sherlock moaned brokenly as John pushed in, the rest of the world fading away until only they remained.  They moved slowly at first, revelling at the feeling of being together. Their pace increased, Sherlock balling his hands in the sheets as John pounded into him. Snaking a hand down, John took hold of Sherlock's cock and stroked him, feeding off of the moans and cries he drew out of him. John kept a hand on Sherlock's hips, holding him as Sherlock pushed back in time with John's thrusts.  
  
"John, I'm not going to last..." Sherlock panted, dropping his head down and biting his lip. John thrust harder, nodding.  
  
"Come for me, Sherlock. You look gorgeous when you do, I know it." The low tone of John's voice pushed him even further to the edge, and Sherlock cried his name as he came. John followed behind, thrusting only a few more times before release.  
  
They stayed like that for a few moments, trying to catch their breath and ease their electrified nerves. John pulled out from Sherlock and disposed of the condom in the bathroom, then came back out to find Sherlock not waiting in bed for him. He was instead at the window, cigarette in hand. John walked over to him, placing his head down on his shoulder. Sherlock put his arm around John's waist, holding him close.  
  
"Those are bad for you."  
  
"I know."  
  
"You shouldn't be smoking."  
  
"It's alright," Sherlock sighed, blowing out some smoke and watching as the ashy grey-blue of it floated out through the partially open window. "I have a doctor to care for me."  
  
John smiled broadly, laughing slightly.  
  
"What are you going to do about Hardell?"  
  
"Well he can't blackmail me anymore, seeing as the man who wasn't supposed to know I held feelings foe him shagged me quite thoroughly. I'll call him to the flat and merely watch his expression when you kiss me."  
  
"I take it you've planned it all out?" John asked, grinning and looking up at Sherlock. The detective returned a warm smile.  
  
"Of course I do. I always have a plan."  
  
"You're too confident. Shut up, kiss me, and let's see if I can knock you down a few pegs."  
  
"With pleasure, John."


End file.
